Collecting Carnies
by CockneyBird3
Summary: Take my hand, darling Sinner, and allow your favourite father to tell you a tale. Sincerely, Lucifer
1. Dear Sinners

I don't own The Devil's Carnival or any of its characters.

**NOTE TO READERS: I just watched the film, finally. I fucking loved it and now I know it well enough to truly make a great fanfiction(hopefully, that's up to you guys to decide). I've deleted the chapters and am starting over. It won't be about only two of the Carnies, now. This prologue should explain it well enough. **

**I hope you all still stay with this story. Thanks. **

**Also: Lucifer's words will still be in Italics when he's telling the story. **

Collecting Carnies

_Dear Sinner, _

_ you're just in time for some stories. I'm sure you're dying to hear of just how I acquired my precious Carnies. They each have a fascinating tale to be told and are more than willing to have me enlighten you. _

_ I will tell you the stories of when they each perished and allowed me to take them under my charred wings. These Carnies are my most prized possessions and it shall not bode well for you to consider these tales as jokes. They are histories and perhaps warnings, that is of course if you ever happen to cross them. _

_ Now, sit back, relax, and stay here a while. You'll fit right in, I'm sure. Be attentive and respectful, for now it's time for your favourite father to tell some tales..._

_Your's Truly,_

_Lucifer_


	2. A Homeless Clown

I don't own The Devil's Carnival or any of its characters.

**Note: I realise no one has had the time to review yet, but I want to get right into this for you. Please let me know what you think of both chapters. **

A Homeless Clown

_We begin, my darling sinner, with a man by the name of Joseph Anderson. Ole Joe had been a loyal American soldier in the so called First World War. Unfortunately, that didn't mean he was prepared for the battle that later hit known as the Great Depression. Joe lost everything he had, which had never amounted to much anyway. _

_He was cast out onto the street, owning only the raggedy clothes on his back, his trusty hat, and a tremendous singing voice. Any money he had ever come across, he was greedy enough to bet to attempt doubling it. Which, of course, never worked out. Now leading a depressing life, he tried desperately to earn cash, using what talents he had. In the end, all he could do was sing stories to any intrigued passerby. _

_He met his end in a tragic, sinful, and self destructive manner. Just before this tragic end begins its spiral is where we meet him. _

_It is Christmas Eve of 1930 in New York City, snow is falling softly, and Joe has just sung a Christmas story to a small group that was willing to listen..._

The last baritone note rolled away and the group applauded, smiles on their faces. The majority wandered away to get the children into their beds before it got much later. The streets were dangerous at night, even on this evening. On man lingered and approached Joe, pulling out his wallet before reaching the singer.

"Here, Merry Christmas, Sir." said the man, holding out 3 dollars.

Joe's jaw dropped slightly and his heart warmed with graciousness...until his eyes saw that much more money resided within that wallet. Ambition threatened to burst from his chest and greed clouded his conscience. Every inch of his body was screaming at him to take it and run. After all, it was every man for himself nowadays and being a good, honourable man had never done anything for him.

Deciding he should stay out of sight and make sure he couldn't be identified to the police, wheels spun in his head and a clever plot unveiled itself. He started walking backwards, towards the alley he was staying in that night.

"Oh, no, I couldn't take money on Christmas Eve." his deep voice protested, hands held in front of him in a gesture of denial. The next moment counted on this stranger having a big heart, Joe hoped against hope that he'd guessed correctly.

"You're hurting a lot more than I am. I'd be horribly upset if you didn't take this." protested the stranger, confirming Joe's guess. Joe continued to slowly backpeddle, knowing the entrance to the alley was maybe two feet behind him now.

"I just can't, Sir. I don't believe in handouts. I didn't fight in that damned war for this." he replied, knowing it was a far fetched statement but counting on the man's good will. His feet were right at the alley's doorstep now.

"Now you've just convinced me even more so to give you this. I can't let a veteran not eat on Christmas Eve." protested the man, still walking closer. Joe's feet were past the alley entrance now and the man was only a step away from being in the shadows himself. Joe waited until the man's feet finally crossed, then replied.

"In that case..." he began, sliding his pocket knife into his hand without the other man noticing. The stranger took another step closer, his big heart aching to help this poor veteran, not knowing that his own good will would soon be his death.

Joe wasted no time and shoved the blade deep into the man's torso, just between the ribcages. Turning them, pressing the stranger agaisnt the wall, and clamping a hand over his mouth as he tried to scream. He yanked the blade out and buried it back in just a few inches higher, puncturing the heart. Pulling the blade back out, he let the man slide to the cold ground, a final sigh of broken heart and shock escaping him as he hit.

Reaching down, he grabbed the 3 dollars and the man's wallet, ignoring the dead open eyes that stared at him accusingly. Before he could check out the wallet more, his dirty deed was interrupted.

"Hey! What's goin on over there?!" shouted a man in blue just outside the alley, where these two men had just been. Joe recognised the blue man as a cop immediately and did the only thing he knew might save him. He ran.

His feet started moving fast, sprinting as though he were making his way across a battlefield again. His ears registered that the cop was shouting at him and following but he never even considered stopping or slowing down.

Slipping at intervals, on patches of ice, he saw an empty bridge ahead of him. He knew that if he got up there he might be able to push the cop over and into the water. He'd be able to stop and count his money then as well.

Panting in the cold air, he made it onto the bridge, intending to reach the middle before stopping. A quarter of the way there, his feet encountered a huge patch of black ice that he hadn't known was there. Cop completely forgotten about, he lost balance, limbs flailed, and hands desperately tried to find something to grab onto.

One hand clamped down on the icy railing and his panic momentarily slipped away. Half a second later, something caught his eye as he heard the shouting cop gaining on him. His brain snapped back into focus as he saw the wallet and 3 dollars were plummeting towards the cold water below the bridge.

His panic returned and greed consumed him, blocking out all thought or logic. All he knew was that the cop was almost there and more money than he'd ever personally seen was dropping into the water just below him. Completely forgetting that it was a fifty foot drop or that it was the middle of winter, he vaulted over the railing and dove towards the water.

"You crazy son of a bitch!" was the last thing he heard right before his body smacked into what at first felt like a solid patch of concrete. He was almost certain bones were broken, then his ability to think disappeared completely as a paralyzing cold penetrated his entire body.

He couldn't see and felt nothing but the water that so cold it hurt. His lungs began to ache for air and it wasn't until just now that he realised he didn't know how to swim. Panic returned as his lungs began to burn in their need for oxygen. Despite the painful cold, he started frantically kicking his legs in the direction he thought was up.

He opened his eyes and could see some sort of light ahead of him. A flickering light, like from a fireplace. The cold began to fade, numbness consumed him, his lungs seemed to stop moving or at least to stop complaining. Before he could try to figure out what was going on, his sight faded as well, his brain becoming fuzzy with no thoughts available to him.

Feeling as though he were floating, he heard a voice. He couldn't tell if it was in his head, or if somehow, something in the water was speaking to him. Not just speaking, but singing. A deep voice, full of power and frightening him.

"Joe, Joe, that greed it'll kill ya...

It's dragging you down, down...

Down to the fires below...

Now I'll take your soul..." sang the powerful voice.

The water was suddenly clear and when he kicked again, his feet and flailing arms seemed to hit glass. Some sort of glass tube was surrounding him. He was trapped in the water within it. It was cold again, cold like thousands of needles poking him, his lungs began to burn once more, another panic welling within his chest. Some figure was walking around whatever tube he was stuck in, this figure looked like it was red.

"You've been a very bad man, haven't you, Joe?" asked the same voice that had been singing to him. The voice appeared to come from the figure that was circling him.

Joe opened his mouth, against all instincts, and screamed. His voice actually carried, as if he wasn't contained in icy water at all. Right after his loud shout, what he'd expected to happen did. The icy water cascaded into his mouth, filling his lungs and making him see black spots. Agony filling his insides but he could scream no more.

The figure stopped and pressed it's frightening face up against the glass, even in his terror and pain, Joe knew this was the Devil himself. Lucifer looked right at Joe's eyes, locking gazes.

"Those are quite a set of lungs, quite a set indeed. Hm..." said the Devil, seeming to go into thought as he gazed at Joe. A sinister smirk filled the Devil's face and suddenly all the water and tube itself vanished.

Joe tumbled to the ground that seemed hot to the touch, some sort of stone, gasping for breath. He was nearly sobbing in relief and terror all at once.

"Time to assess something, my Son. I'm going to ask you some questions and you'd better answer wisely. If not, that experience you just had will begin again and be your eternal punishment. Now, stand before me. Up, up, up." instructed the Devil. Joe shakily stood, still feeling the cold somehow. Lucifer smirked at him again, sending more chills through Joe's body.

"You're a performer, are you not?" asked Lucifer.

"I...I guess I am." answered Joe, his voice somehow still as strong as it had been back on earth.

"You guess you are, or you are?"

"I am." answered Joe, Lucifer nodded in what appeared to be approval. Joe felt some of the cold vanish and realised it must have been because he answered with what the Devil had wanted to hear.

"What can you do?"

"Well, I can sing and dance, Sir." said Joe, knowing that down here Lucifer was his superior and that that was how you addressed superiors. More cold disappeared from his body and he knew he was on the right track. The Devil began to pace around him. Joe stayed stock still and didn't let his eyes follow him. Not quite standing at attention like a soldier, but close enough.

"Good. You like singing and dancing, don't you?" asked Lucifer.

"I like money more, Sir. But, yes, I like to show off." answered Joe, the Devil chuckled and it felt as though the ground shook with the power of his laugh.

"I can use you or abuse you, my Son. Which would you prefer?"

"Use."

"Good, then you'll need a stage name." answered Lucifer.

"What's wrong with my name, Sir?"

"Your name at birth is your so called Christian name. I won't have that down here. Besides, your eternity shall be as a performer, your stage name will be all that you go by here."

"Well...I...I don't have a stage name. I ain't got a stage." said Joe. Lucifer laughed again, this time Joe was certain the gound did shake.

"You shall have a stage, my Son. Do you like clowns?"

"Well, yeah. I always liked clowns. At war, in the trenches, I always told a lot of jokes and was a jackass so the other men started callin me Clown." answered Joe.

"Then a clown you shall be. A singing, dancing clown. I like it. The Hobo Clown. That's what you'll be called. Your outfit now suits you just right, your face will be painted and stay that way." declared Lucifer. Joe nodded and felt all the cold disappear.

"Okay. Um...Sir?" asked Joe, a question forming in his mind.

"Yes, my Son?" asked Lucifer, using that term of endearment again, assuring Joe that he was accepted here.

"What exactly am I performing in?" asked Joe, watching Lucifer smile.

"My Carnival, of course." _I said._

_He's a permanent fixture and I couldn't be prouder of him. Even I find myself fascinated and entertained with the stories he tells through song. He's truly one of a kind and Hell is happy to have him. The Hobo Clown may seem like an unimportant part of my Carnival, until you see his performance, that is. _

_He, like myself, doesn't do things just for fun. He has lesson to teach you if you're willing to hear it. Then again, if you're to hear his lesson, you've lost your chance of redemption...Greed really will kill you. _


	3. To Tame The Beasts

I don't own The Devil's Carnival or any of its characters.

Collecting Carnies

To Tame the Beasts

_As you should know, I'm a very busy being. I don't have the time to make sure all of my Carnies or Carnival guests are following the rules. I required a new Carnie who would be such a fearsome punisher that the rules would not be broken. Someone who could tame the wild beasts in my possession when they get out of hand._

_I found this tamer in the form of an almost vicious criminal. His name was Gregory Connor, a man who participated in something similar to gladiator games all over Europe. In these "games", men or other animals would fight large beasts like tigers, lions, bears, and whatnot. Each of these larger beasts required their owners/captors to be able to control them. Gregory had that job._

_We meet him in the middle of the last fight he'd have ever trained a beast for. His tiger is battling a lone fighter that possesses only a sword, in a deserted clearing of the woods in northern Scotland._

_It is late fall of the year 1806, and Gregory's last night on Earth..._

The tiger was stalking the man around the fire while the small crowd anxiously watched. The man's grip on his sword was dangerously slack as sweat pooled in his hand. His trainer watched nervously from the side, muttering tips to his fighter. Gregory had an expressionless face, which was common for him. He was a quiet man, but they all knew to fear him. He had gained an unspoken reputation for ruthlessness.

His cruel eyes followed his tiger, confident that the beast would remain undefeated.

The tiger quickly lashed out, its powerful paw gashing the fighter's arm and causing him to drop his sword as a crimson shower spurted from the wound. The man turned and took one step but got no further. The tiger pounced on him, its incredible speed and weight pinning the man to the ground. Its huge teeth sunk into the man's neck and tore it open, appearing to swallow what it had ripped off.

As the man's scream turned to a gurgle, many men groaned in disappointment, realizing they'd bet on the wrong side of the fight. A few puked and many others simply had to leave as the tiger began to devour the now dead man.

Gregory approached his beast, whip in hand, waiting for it to stop. Hearing him near its prize, it brought its head up and menacingly snarled at Gregory. His patience snapping, Gregory snapped the whip on the beast's back, cutting through fur and skin. As blood pooled up and stained the gorgeous fur, the beast whimpered and moved away.

He put the chain back on it's neck and walked it over towards where he was camping for the night. The chain was wrapped and tightened around the tree as the men left, the corpse being disposed of as they did so.

Roughly an hour passed, the clear night sky being lit by a full moon. Gregory lay on his makeshift cot, staring up, watching his breath condense in the icy air every time he exahaled. Eventually, his eyes began to drift closed. The tiger's, however, did not. The beast lay mere feet from him, watching him as he slept.

Slowly and quietly, the tiger moved towards Gregory, happily finding that the chain was longer than usual tonight. The beast stalked its master and eventually reached him.

Gregory heard the chain move just as the tiger reached him and awoke. Seeing the beast's face just above his own, he jumped up, merely a little too late. The tiger's powerful paw swung hard, razor sharp claws digging into Gregory's face and slicing across it.

The generally silent man let out a loud groan of agony and kicked as he fell back from the force of the hit. His boot connected with the beast's chest but did hardly any damage. The beast took its chance and pounced, busting the chain apart, links snapping and flying off into the woods.

The large creature landed atop Gregory, claws viciously ripping and tearing, blood spurting into the air. The man who'd once been the beast's master screamed one last time in agony as he was blinded by his own blood just before claws tore up his face further. The immense pain eventually turned into complete numbness and consciousness failed him.

The snarls of the beast were no longer audible, in fact, he could hear nothing but what sounded like the crackling of flames in a large fire. The pain returned but wasn't as vicious or agonizing, more of a faded throbbing all over his body. Sight suddenly returned to him, showing that he was in a what looked like a black cave, yellowish flames dancing around the walls.

He forced his body to move and rose to his feet, odd weights laid upon him and he stared down, blinking away the shock. Shackles chained his ankles and wrists to the floor and his body was completely naked, wounds from the tiger open and raw but no blood coming out.

A sort of panic erupted in his chest. How could this be? He couldn't be chained up. He was no wild animal or slave. _He_ was the master, not an owned creature. _He _was the beast tamer, not the shackled beast.

His powerful body tugged and pulled on the chains but nothing budged. He could do nothing, move nowhere. He was at the mercy of whoever thought they owned him now. Reluctantly, he realized, it wasn't a thought. Whoever had chained him _did _indeed own him now. He began to shake, a sort of hysterical panic sweeping through him.

"Settle, my son." said a powerful voice that echoed around the cave-like room. Gregory's head snapped around, trying to find the source.

"I am not your son." Gregory retorted, his hardly used voice sounding rough and deep. A mean voice. The unseen speaker laughed, the room shaking, shackles rattling as he did so.

"Your defiant spirit has no effect on me, simple man. I am your master now." replied the speaker, footsteps sounded behind Gregory but he didn't have enough chain length to turn.

"I have no master." argued Gregory in a snarl. His snarl turned immediately to an agonized scream as flames suddenly erupted onto his body, covering every inch of his being and furiously burning.

There was a sound of fingers snapping and the flames disappeared, the pain with it.

"I _am _your master, Gregory. You _will _obey me or I will make that agony permanent. Are we understood?" asked the smooth, deep, powerful voiced speaker as he stepped into view. Gregory stared at him in amazement.

"...Yes." he replied, intimidated. Lucifer smirked.

"Good. I may be your master, Gregory, but I need you to be the master of many others. Do you understand that?" asked Lucifer.

"Yes, master." replied Gregory, not feeling bitterness at surrendering to who he now knew was Satan.

"Very good, very good. My talented and vicious tamer. How do you feel about carnivals?"

"Carnivals?..." asked Gregory in a breathless voice, still stunned.

"Yes, carnivals. See, I have my own carnival but I need someone who can punish guests or Carnies that get out of line. Do you think you can tame rebellious spirits for me, Gregory?" asked Lucifer, snapping his fingers and causing the shackles to bust and drop to the ground with a clatter.

"I can tame anything." replied Gregory, stretching his ankles and wrists, forgetting his nakedness. Lucifer smirked.

"Which is why I need you...Tamer." was the reply, fingers snapped again and Gregory's torn up clothing appeared back on his body, hat and all. He blinked at the Devil.

"Welcome."_ I replied, grinning. Tamer nodded, finding his bullwhip in his hand and even managed a small smile back. _

_...that is, simply, how I acquired the phenominally cruel Carnie forever known as The Tamer. _

_There are six hundred sixty-six rules to my Carnival and if you ever find yourself visiting...you had better follow them. If you don't wish to find yourself at the hands and mercy of my Tamer, that is._

((AUTHOR NOTE: I apologize for that being shorter but I don't quite have a feel for Tamer and so it was difficult to get his character. I hope you enjoyed. It also would help me make chapters longer if I could get some more feedback after each one. Thank you for reading. The next one shall be up soon. ))


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